


droplets

by oelc



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Mass Effect, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-14 18:56:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10542513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oelc/pseuds/oelc
Summary: collection of drabbles involving my ocs, mostly with prompts and word limit





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> prompt - stranger in a strange land  
> words - 630  
> characters - verdun, ezra

Verdun has never seen so many humans in one place. She used to think her Keeper was tall, glowering down at her for skipping her lessons or coming home after dark. That she was short even for an elf was undeniable among current company – she makes sure not to stand next to any qunari.

She misses feeling safe, at home, surrounded by family; when she catches Ezra’s hand in hers it doesn’t seem so far away.

“What is it?” her sister asks. She simply smiles in response and touches the dried flowers in her hair, prompting Ezra to do the same.

“We will return to the Marches in no time, elgar’inan, do not worry,” Ezra promises her, steadfast as ever. They are rearranging coils of elfroot so they aren’t overshadowed by the more vibrant Andraste’s Grace. _‘Planning tactics even now,’_ Verdun thinks, but she allows it just this once.

“Who’s worried?” she laughs, slipping out of Ezra’s reach like water. It draws the attention of some bystanders – mage and Templar alike. United, ironically, in the inspection of something foreign to both sides. It wouldn’t be the first time an issue was resolved by the appearance of a stranger.

She is a sight though, with her white hair held together atop her head by intricately tied flowers and vines, with her striking eyes and dark lips curved into an easy smile. Her shimmering finery contrasts splendidly with Ezra’s travelling cloak and looming figure. Oh, but it is a _dashing_ figure too, like a solemn knight that shadows their charge and never quite enters the light themselves. Their vallaslin echoes those old dalish stories, and Verdun knows the humans feel it too.

Ezra sends her ahead to the chantry proper when a redheaded woman beckons them over with the enthusiasm of an old friend. Their retreating back does look distant then, and when she squints up the path against the sunlight her destination seems farther away from home than ever.

Never one to be alone for too long, Verdun finds a young man resting by the side of the road, a ways away from the grounds where the Conclave will be held. He looks up when she perches next to him and she makes sure he receives her beaming smile well.

“Everyone’s running around like ants! You’ve got the right idea taking a breather and enjoying the company of the flowers,” she presses a hand to her chest, his eyes dart up to the bouquet in her hair.

The boy looks startled to be addressed at all, but keeps absentmindedly polishing the shield laid across his lap. Dutiful. She wonders if he’s the owner of the equipment or just its caretaker.

“Oh, um. Yes. I mean, no,” he stutters, and Verdun can’t help but let out a little laugh. He frowns at that, but his red cheeks do his seriousness no favors.

“This is a momentous occasion, one we should be honored to –“ His voice and hands still as she shifts closer. When her fingers dance across the shield and up his tunic under the pretense of picking some lint off the fabric, he turns – if possible – even more crimson.

“…attend,” he breathes. She’s surprised when he grabs her hand, but reassured when he simply holds it in place over his collarbone.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Enjoying the flowers,” she teases, pressing forward.

He lets go of her hand and she trails it further upward, cupping his jaw. With her right she takes his other hand and places it on the small of her back. She presses her lips to the corner of his mouth, asking for permission. He gives it freely, with a shuddering breath.

She hums - he is warm and eager when he reciprocates, task forgotten.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt - might as well jump  
> words - 100  
> characters - verdun, ezra, tamlen

“But why aren’t we taking the bridge?”

“Someone thought it was a good idea to lead Heer over it, _Tamlen_!”

His ears pink at that.

“I didn’t know she was _that_ heavy,” he says. “I swear.”

Verdun pats him on the shoulder. Ezra is peering down the precipice with consideration. “We should be fine right here.”

Tamlen groans. “Are you really–“

Verdun rushes in headfirst, heartfirst. Her laugh turns into a shriek halfway down.

Ezra whips after her with arms outstretched, eyes on the prize.

Tamlen teeters on the edge before clenching his eyes shut and tumbling after them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt - first light  
> words - 400  
> characters - ezra, verdun

When she first returned to the Brecilian Forest, it was as if it had all been a terrible dream. The same faces greeting her that said their farewells so long ago, halla she was sure remembered her, initials scratched into aravels.

But Ashalle held her too tightly; treated her too carefully. The halla had greyed around their snouts. The initials were barely legible.

…Little things that chink and fracture.

 The hunters salute her on the way, and Ezra makes sure to smile reassuringly. They know her destination.

She breathes in deeply because at last she _can_ , here in Ferelden, beneath the hanging branches of the old birch trees – home. Skyhold was stifling, Orlesian politics poisoned the air, she choked on every decision made with or without her involvement.

She is doing better now. Well enough.

Her fingers twitch around the bouquet she brought. Its arrangement is utilitarian, rustic at best – she can almost hear Tamlen teasing her for it.

_‘Never did have an eye for such things, did you?’_ His laugh whispers over her skin.

It’s bittersweet, it’s her imagination, it’s the wind stirring up her memories.

The smile on her face wavers but holds, while easing the flowers into the crook of one arm to trace a line of trees with the other.

One, two, three – _there he is._  As she left him.

Well, not quite.

The sapling has grown. She can tell someone – likely Ashalle – has been clearing the area of weeds that might hinder its growth. Not customary, but Ezra cannot blame her for it. She does not like to think of all the saplings in the Emerald Graves that didn’t even make it through the underbrush.

She lets out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. It rattles her bones on the way out.

Steeling herself, she kneels down before Tamlen’s empty grave and carefully places the flowers at its base. It is a human custom begrudgingly appreciated, combined with a dalish one to ease her mind. The plants she chose are all seed-bearing, so that come Spring the little clearing will blossom with colour and life.  She can do that for him, at least.

_‘Better late than never!’_ she hears.

Ah.

She is not doing so well, after all.

Verdun finds her sister there, shaking but silent. She presses a hand to her back, not so broad now.

Tamlen had soft hands too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> proof of misconduct  
> words - 433  
> characters - Kal, Verdun

“Stop picking on him, Kal!” Verdun quips from her lazy position at the woman sitting primly beside her on the divan.

“Hmph. I’m just telling him his footwork isn’t right. He looks bad.” She pauses. “It looks bad for the Inquisition, right?” She pointedly narrows her eyes at Verdun’s bare feet and the grass stains on her knees.

One eye opens at that. “Easily fixed, that is – we’ll just say he’s Fereldan.”

Kal looks away. Purses her lips. Makes sure no one sees the twitch at one corner of her mouth. Fails at that, by the irritating way Verdun looks at her from beneath her lashes.

Her companion stretches, light scattering across bare legs. It’s a lovely day for early spring, the sun making a valiant effort to warm the heights of the Frostbacks. Verdun is making the most of it while she can, tragically resigned to the shade so her skin doesn’t burn. She had assumed their newest addition to Inquisition ranks to be a bit of a homebody, but it becomes obvious after a little while why Kal joined her outside.

Some of the troops are taking dancing lessons from Josephine today and they are apparently perfect victims to tease and make whispered comments about in Verdun’s direction. A few are even positive.

Verdun shrugs, still smiling. Kal takes it as a bit of a slight.

“I’m not _mean_ , you know!”

“Whatever you say, bel’athim.” The pet name flies over Kal’s head.

“I mean it! Ask… ask…”

Verdun laughs outright at her stuttered objections. “Oh, you poor thing!”

Kal shoves her off the divan.

Verdun throws a fistful of grass at Kal from her vanquished position, then scrambles up and starts toward the castle.

“I’ll tell Ezra!”

“NO-“

Kal’s fingers find purchase on Verdun’s belt – the surprise drags both of them down to the dirt. Verdun tries to kick her off, but she’s laughing too much to make any real headway. Kal desperately tries to stifle the shrieks coming out of her mouth. The whole courtyard is looking at them, wondering if they should interfere – it’s hard to process their Anchor being sat on by a dubious ex-Warden mage however pretty the view.

“ _Oh_ , Ezra, look at what she-“ Kal clamps both hands over Verdun’s mouth, heart hammering in her throat. She must be a sight. Her hair escaped from its ties, her dress a disheveled mess. The momentary distraction is enough for Verdun to wriggle out from under her and take off in a mad dash. Kal whips around, but the darker sibling is nowhere in sight. She lets out a frustrated cry before chasing.

_“You!”_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompts - celebrate good times, eye of the beholder, unconventional love  
> words - 100  
> characters - Verdun, Ezra, Josephine Montilyet, Kallia

  1. **celebrate good times  
**



It wasn’t often that they could rest without some threat looming over them. Verdun knows that, but she isn’t sure anyone else does.

Her sister is one of the worst offenders: burrowed into maps and sequestered away in their room until they remember food and sleep are necessary to stay alive (and therefore integral to plans!).

Which is why Verdun is standing in front of Ezra’s chamber with Josephine in her nightgown, face aflush.

“Are you _sure_ this isn’t an intrusion, Verdun? That this isn’t _unwanted?_ ”

Verdun simply opens the door and enjoys the audible _click_ of a jaw closing.

  1. **eye of the beholder  
**



Kal is an absolute sight. Her hair sticking in all directions, not a patch of clean skin visible – there was a tear in the side of her dress she’d patched up with a chunk of ice and a scowl on her face so dark it threatened to extinguish all the lights in their camp.

She’d fallen into a pit.

So when a creature appears behind her demanding she help her fix this in Kal’s crystal voice, Verdun can’t help the burst of laughter _or_ the kiss she feels compelled to press against her dirty cheek. Naturally, a lengthy bath follows.

  1. **unconventional love  
**



“It’s ugly.”

“I love it.”

Kal snorts. What Verdun apparently _loved_ was an absolutely mangy thing. Kal didn’t even know birds _could_ be mangy – they tended to be either fat or dead. This one had a mangled wing to boot.

“I thought you didn’t _like_ animals,” she quips, looking over Verdun’s shoulder.

There’s a beat of silence, then: “I like eating them!”

Kal crinkles her nose in distaste, “Are you going to eat _this thing_ , too?”

“Hmm, maybe,” Verdun gathered the little broken thing in her arms, “but I think it should fly some more before that.”

“You _\- you animal!”_


End file.
